Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

To Nicholas, death felt a lot like nothing. 

It was quiet. Dark. The weight that had been dragging him down was finally relieved, lifted off his limbs to allow one last lungful of air in before the world went black. 

What hurt the most was being brought back to life. The first breath afterwards, and all the subsequent breaths that occurred for the three months immediately following the first. 

While he was in treatment, there was a girl there a few years younger than him. She was fascinated by dying. She asked him if he went to heaven or hell. He lied at first— spun up stories about the magical things he saw and the people he met. Then he grew tired and told her the truth. There is no god, he died, and there was nothing, and then he lived, and now everything feels worse than the nothing death was. 

She cried when he broke the news. He felt bad, but only for half a day. It’s better that she knows. Maybe it would help her get out faster. No one wanted to end up like him. It’s the worst case scenario. It’s better to die and stay dead than die and come back, Nicholas thinks. Everyone he spoke to agreed— besides his therapist. 

The ceiling fan buzzes slightly when it’s running. There’s a fly stuck between the window and the blinds. The TV is playing a soap opera at a low enough volume that the voices sound muddled, impossible to properly discern. The summer heat is just creeping in, air growing heavy with humidity. Sweat beads at Nicholas’ upper lip and the dip of his clavicle. His shirt would stick to his sternum if he sat upright. He hasn’t sat upright since early this morning, when he got up to pee. Since then, he’s been lying on his back in his twin-sized bed, staring at the ceiling. 

There’s a chip of paint missing where one of his posters used to hang. One of those sleazy pictures of a half-naked woman posing with a sports car. Nicholas put it up as an act of resistance. Because he wanted to see his grandma and sister’s faces when they saw it. Like most things in his life, it ended up lackluster. Yuè didn’t say a thing. She pressed her lips together in a thin line and continued vacuuming Nicholas’ floor. Kahei looked up, and then back down at Nicholas, and said, “You’re a pig,” and he couldn’t fight back, because her boyfriend had just broken up with her, and she’d been crying all day. He’s not a monster. 

While Nicholas was gone, one of them must have taken the poster down. All that’s left of it is a missing chip of paint.

He hears Yuè’s footsteps before she appears above him, hovering like a spectre. She’s frowning. She’s been doing that a lot since Nicholas came home. He’d feel bad about it if he could stop focusing on the ceiling fan, and the fly stuck between the window and the blinds, and the soap opera on the TV, and how quiet it was when he wasn’t living at all. 

“Yixiang, how long are you going to sit in this room for?” 

Nicholas grunts. 

“It’s not healthy.” 

“It’s healthier than doing drugs.” 

She hits him. A solid smack to the side of his head with the heel of her palm. 

“Hey!” Nicholas complains. He sits up, muscles aching in protest, too used to being prone. 

He watches her back as she retreats from his room. There’s no door on the hinges. It was removed a long time ago— when Nicholas first lost Yuè’s trust. He never earned it back. 

Eventually, his legs follow his command to move, feet touching the floor. He gets up, teeth clenched at a pain in his back. 

Yuè is in the kitchen. She has the cabinet open, ferrying china to the table. Two cups, two plates. There’s a kettle ready to go on the stove. 

Nicholas stops in the doorway, leaning his weight against the frame. “What are you doing?” 

She doesn’t bother to look up at him. She’s pleased with herself, Nicholas can see it on her face. In the carefree swing of the tassel attached to the end of the pin keeping the delicate twist of her silver hair in place. She’s wearing her good house shoes. 

“Yuma will be here in twenty minutes,” she says. 

Nicholas’ stomach sours instantly. “What?” 

“He comes over every Wednesday. Last week you interrupted our normal schedule, so we have a lot to catch up on.” 

Last week— one week from today— Nicholas was discharged from the rehab facility. Yuè picked him up out front. She got out and gave him a strong-armed hug, rocking him back and forth and breathing in his shampoo. He almost cried. But, he didn’t. He hasn’t cried in a long time. 

“And you neglected to tell me that he’s coming until right now?” 

She shrugs, shutting the cabinet and moving to pull out her basket of tea. She waves her hand in Nicholas’ direction. “You never asked. All you’ve done today is lay in that bed and rot. Not even a good morning for your grandmother.” 

“Yuè, please tell me you’re kidding.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Yuè,” Nicholas whines. He feels twenty years younger than he is. Complaining about something that’s going to happen anyway. Kicking his feet and batting his fists. 

He turns on his heel, stomping back into his bedroom, crouching down by the suitcase he still hasn’t unpacked and rifling through his clothes. He doesn’t think anything is clean. Maybe something at the very bottom. When he died, Yuè drove to his apartment in the city and packed up his things there. She brought them home. Unloaded them like he had never left at all, and brought him a suitcase of clothes to the hospital. There are still clean clothes hanging in the closet, but Nicholas is too stubborn to touch them. They shouldn’t be here. 

“You’re welcome to join us!” Yuè shouts. 

“Fuck no!”  

“Language!” she scolds, no weight behind it. She gave up on that when Nicholas was sixteen. 

He finds a pair of shorts that smell alright in the bottom of his bag. A tank-top that gaps too far under his arms to be too stained with sweat. He’ll do laundry after Yuma is gone. That’s what he tells himself. His hair is so long he could practically tie it back, but he settles for one of the headbands he stole out of Kahei’s room last week, shoving it over his temples so that his bangs are off his face. 

“I’m gonna go out,” he tells Yuè, breezing through the kitchen on his way to the back door. He doesn’t want to run the risk of bumping into Yuma on the main road. The alley will be safer. 

“Good!” Yuè says. “Pick up some honey on your way home.” 

“I don’t have any money.” 

She wrestles her wallet out of her dress pocket— where it’s permanently lived since Nicholas was seventeen— and presses a couple of bills down on the counter. It’s almost nothing, but it’ll buy him honey and something to drink, if he’s lucky. “And you should really find a job. Just something part-time. It will help motivate you to get back on your feet.” 

“Don’t know if anyone is hiring at this point. You know how summer is.” Nicholas leans in and kisses her cheek. 

“Ask around, Yixiang. It won’t kill you.” 

“Yeah. Sure.” He doesn’t hang around any longer, slipping on his sneakers and tossing open the door. 

༄

Nicholas doesn’t have a plan. 

He doesn’t know where he’s going, or for how long. Just that he wants to be away for a while. At least as long as Yuma is home. 

For most of his life, he hasn’t had a plan. The fleeting moments he has, they’re easily lost. Once one string falls out of place, the rest fall too, and he’s back to taking things as they come. Kahei isn’t like that— she knows what she wants and how to get it. Yuè used to joke that Kahei stole all of their mother’s gumption in the womb, and by the time Nicholas was there, there was nothing left for him. 

Nicholas was born on the hottest day of the year. Yuè said she knew he’d be trouble as soon as his mother went into labor. 

“She screamed. She screamed so loud the doctors got scared. They’d never heard anything like it. And then the second we laid eyes on you, all of it was worth it. No question about it. Trouble and all.” 

He’s almost positive that she’s changed her mind by now— after all the trouble he’s caused— but for a moment, at least, that is how she felt. 

Yuè has never been dishonest with him. When Nicholas’ mother left, he was five, and she sat him and Kahei down on the couch and told them outright that she was gone. That she might come back, but might not. It wasn’t their fault. That she was an addict— in softer terms— and that she chose drugs over them. That Yuè would always be there for them, no matter what. 

In many ways, Nicholas and Kahei were better off without their mother. Yuè is their family. The only one that matters, anyway. She always kept things light. Happy. She would put on her old records and spin Nicholas around in the kitchen when she taught him to cook. She let them dress how they want. Express themselves how they felt appropriate. She made Kahei and Nicholas call her by her given name, because she said she didn’t want them thinking they were less important than her. When Kahei said she wanted to go to art school, Yuè cried. She was so happy. When Nicholas said he wanted to leave, she held his face in her hands and told him that if that’s what he wanted, she wouldn’t hold him back. 

Nicholas was a nightmare for much of his childhood, and a terror for his teen years. Sometimes, at his worst moments, he knew that Yuè could see his mother in him. He knew that it killed her, but he was too selfish to stop. 

When Nicholas left home— right after he turned eighteen— he told Yuè that he’d never be back. He didn’t like the way she looked at him and said, “Okay,” like she didn’t believe him. It made him feel young. Stupid. She always insisted that he wasn’t like his mother. He was too soft. Nicholas spent most of his life trying to prove her wrong, just because he could. 

He promised himself that he’d never come back here. People who stay in their hometown are aimless, he thought. They’re pathetic. Cowardly. Unable to dream any bigger than their front door. 

As it turns out, Nicholas has been all of those things the entire time. He just hadn’t been able to admit it until he was forced to sit with his sober thoughts for more than forty-eight hours at a time— something he hadn’t done since he was probably fifteen.

He kicks a rock down the alley behind Yuè’s house. It bounces off a dip in the pavement before coming to rest. Nicholas’ eyes stay locked onto it until he reaches it again. He kicks it. It rolls. Stops. And that’s it. 

He takes the alley behind the house down to the furthest street out that he can still follow downtown. Even though it’s been so long, everything is exactly how he left it. Frozen in time. Little beach towns feel like that. They come alive in the summer and lay dormant for the rest of the year. Nicholas always found it depressing— his home being a place people forget about most of the time. 

Clapboard houses painted in pastels and weathered from the sea, streets littered with potholes, unable to keep up with the heaviest traffic in the warm months. It’s a place that’s easy to romanticize while you’re away, but hard to love when you’re stuck in it. It wasn’t until Nicholas was in the city that he started dreaming in warmth and colors. Thinking of the sand and the inclined streets winding through soft hills. The water is always freezing cold, but the further away Nicholas got, the less that bothered him. 

Now that he’s back, and he’s stuck again, he’s somewhere just shy of hate. Everything feels so loud since he died. The city was hurting his head. It’s quieter here, and it’s still too much. The air is too hot and the breeze is too cold. Every car that passes sounds like an airplane. Nicholas lost his headphones months ago and he hasn’t had enough in his bank account to get new ones yet. 

There’s a crack in his phone screen, from the top left corner to the middle right side. He runs his thumb over the surface to check the time. It’s just about three. Too early for anything to be going on, but too late to make much of the day. 

He knows the bar will be open, because it’s always opened at ten in the morning since he was a baby. Before she left, his mother used to take him and Kahei there for lunch. The bartender was a nice, older woman with ample cleavage. She’d serve them a basket of french fries and coo over Nicholas. He liked that. 

Maybe they’ll give him a job if he asks. At the very least, they’ll give him a beer. 

He circles around back before pushing through the front door. There’s not much to it. It’s a dive bar in the classic sense, though it has a nautical tilt due to the proximity to the beach. Old creaky floors and neon lights hung up on every surface. The few celebrities that have stopped through are memorialized in the corner with autographs on framed photos. The smell of cigarette smoke is melted into the walls, spilt beer sticky under his feet. Nicholas takes a deep breath, relaxing for a split second. Right up until he realizes who’s tending bar. 

His body reacts for him, immediately turning to leave, job and beer be damned. 

“Holy shit— Nicholas?” 

He stops, hands curling into fists and jaw clenching. Very slowly, he turns around. Lifts his hand into an awkward wave. “Hey.” 

Harua is just as pretty as he’s always been. Big, doe eyes and butterfly lashes. His lips are pink and pert, dropped open as Nicholas sits down at the stool in front of him. He’s already turning over a fresh glass, waiting for Nicholas’ order. Nicholas is the one who taught Harua to mix a drink. He walked Harua through the steps in Murata Fuma’s basement when they were sixteen— a Cuba Libre, Nicholas called it to impress him, even though they both knew it was just a rum and Coke. Harua let Nicholas lick the taste of it off his tongue afterwards. 

“I thought you were dead,” Harua says. 

“Not yet.” Nicholas gets comfortable. Taps his fingers against the bar and blows out a long breath, cheeks round with air. When he chances a look up, Harua is still staring. Wide-eyed. “Allegedly,” Nicholas adds, flipping his hand over, palm to the ceiling for a moment. 

“They told me you overdosed.” 

Harua has never been one to mince words. Nicholas always appreciated it. It made their breakup straightforward when it inevitably came around. 

Nicholas laughs dryly. He glances to the side. There’s no one else here. Just him. “That half is true.” 

“Wow.” Harua blinks. He moves his hand from the beer tap to the soda. “I’m not serving an addict.” 

“Come on, Rua. You never said that when you’d make me drinks back in the day,” Nicholas jokes. 

Harua doesn’t laugh. 

“Kidding. I’m not into alcohol like that, anyway.” 

The hose bubbles when Harua clicks the button. He pours Nicholas a Coke, but doesn’t bother with adding ice. Some subtle form of punishment that neither of them will mention, Nicholas is sure. He doesn’t drop Nicholas’ eyes when he slides the glass across the bar, or when he hooks the hose back in place. He stares like he’s trying to figure something out. Nicholas must look different. He feels different. So hollow that he’d echo if Harua knocked on him. 

“Did you cry when you found out?” Nicholas asks. 

Harua’s brow twitches, but his face remains blank. “That you were dead?” 

Nicholas nods. His fingertips graze the side of his glass. It’s not as cold as he expected. 

“Honestly. No.” 

“Because you didn’t believe it?” 

“No. Because I barely know you anymore.” 

The words land and are almost immediately swallowed by the music playing over the stereo. Harua isn’t intending to be cruel, but it hurts regardless. The quiet between them blooms, unburdened, until Nicholas feels like he’s suffocating. When he finally takes a drink of his soda, it feels wrong. Like it’s laced with acid, burning him up from the inside out. 

“I’m not trying to hit you while you’re down,” Harua says, tinged with the suggestion of regret. “I just feel like you think the world stops turning when you’re not around. But, it doesn’t.” 

“How long have you been waiting to say that line?” Nicholas asks. 

Harua’s lips pull up on one side. “Practiced it in the mirror a few times. It’s good, right?” 

“Yeah. It’s good. Hits my fatal flaws right on the head. Effective.” 

“Well, maybe you should have gotten some new fatal flaws in the last ten years.” 

Nicholas snorts. He shakes his head. His Coke tastes more like Coke when he tries it again. “I think I missed you,” he says, a little too quietly to be dishonest. 

Harua seems visibly surprised. “Don’t tell me you learned how to be vulnerable in the time you were away.”

Nicholas shrugs. 

“If I knew, maybe I would have cried over you.” 

“No you wouldn’t have.” 

“No,” Harua agrees. “I wouldn’t have. I’ve cried over you enough for a lifetime. It’s someone else’s turn.” 

Behind Nicholas, the door opens, a slat of light shining into the bar until it closes again. Harua stands up straight, welcoming the new customer in. One of his regulars, by the way they’re talking to each other. Nicholas eavesdrops and sips at his room temperature soda. 

Harua smiles at the regular. He hadn’t smiled at Nicholas at all. Nicholas isn’t familiar anymore. To Harua, he’s just someone he used to know. 

The realization makes Nicholas’ chest ache in a way he isn’t ready to deal with. 

When Harua floats back over, smile fading, Nicholas asks, “Hey, is Takayama still around?” 

Harua gives him a funny look. “Yeah. He’s usually bumming it at the docks. Why?” 

Nicholas shakes his head. He leaves his money on the counter. Just enough to cover his drink, even though he only had a quarter of it. He gives Harua the best smile he can muster— lips pressed together. “See ya, Rua.” 

If Harua responds, Nicholas doesn’t hear it. 

༄

Takayama Riki was Nicholas’ first drug dealer. 

Nicholas doesn’t blame him for anything that happened after that, but some of those psychotic fucks that consider weed a gateway drug might. 

Taki’s older cousin got Taki into selling way too young. He must’ve been, like, thirteen when he approached Nicholas for the first time. At fifteen, Nicholas was tired of bumming smokes off of anyone who would let him, so he was more than happy to give Taki business. 

He and Yuma got high a lot the first summer they linked up with Taki. Mostly because Taki always had a major crush on Yuma, so he was easy to squeeze a discount out of. All the cash they made at their summer gigs went straight into Taki’s pocket. 

As promised, Taki is sitting at the very end of the docks, bumming it. His feet are nearly skimming the water, hands propped behind him to keep himself upright. It’s not a particularly sunny day— the ocean seems angry— but he’s laid out like he’s basking in the sun. 

He doesn’t open his eyes when Nicholas walks up, nor when Nicholas sits down next to him, legs folded instead of hanging over the ocean. 

“Long time no see,” he says, taking a deep breath in through his nose. His mop of black, shaggy hair is blowing in the breeze, cheeks pink. 

“How’d you know who I was?” Nicholas asks. 

Taki pries open one eye. He splits into a smile that’s equal parts stupid and gorgeous, just like him. “You’re my very favorite customer.” 

Nicholas socks him in the arm, and Taki immediately lets out a screech of laughter. He moves with Nicholas’ force only to bounce back, slinging his arm around Nicholas’ shoulders like no time has passed at all since they saw one another. Taki has grown. He’s visibly stronger. His laugh hasn’t changed. 

“Dude, I missed you. Really. Been a drag around here without you around.” 

“No it hasn’t.” 

Taki’s smile widens. “It hasn’t. But, I did miss you. For real.” 

How soon is too soon to ask Taki for drugs? It feels rude now that Taki is the first person who’s shown him any sort of warmth. 

“Do you come out here every day? Even when the weather is rotten?” 

Taki tips his head back, like a sunflower reaching for the sky. “The weather is never rotten, Nico, your attitude is.” 

“Right…” 

A pair of seagulls fly overhead and land in the water. They bob on top of the waves, squawking when they bump into each other. Nicholas focuses on the white of their feathers. Something to keep him distracted. His mouth is growing dry. 

“You don’t need to play polite, you know,” Taki says. “You can just ask me.” 

Nicholas lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “You got any weed, man? I’m kind of dying. It’s been months.” 

“They don’t let you smoke in rehab?” Taki gasps. “Fucking fascists.” 

“They don’t let you do anything but string yourself up. It’s a humiliation ritual.” 

Taki snorts. He pats the pockets on his cargo shorts. “Look, I’d love to assist your inevitable decline, but all I’ve got on me right now is a blunt and a dime bag. Maki bought me out of everything I had with me today.” 

“Sure. I’ll take whatever you’ve got.” Nicholas doesn’t tell him he doesn’t have money for anything else, anyway. He just hands Taki the money he’s got left. “Who the fuck is Maki?” 

“Mauss Riki, funny, right? He’s a surfer. Got rich parents. He lives in one of those nice houses down by the beach— Harua’s shacking up with him.” 

Taki is a good source for information, because he’s always talking to someone who knows someone, or in the right place at the right time, or talking to the old ladies down at the diner that gossip too much. Those old ladies love him. 

“No shit,” Nicholas says lamely. 

“Yes shit.” Taki presses a bag of flower and a blunt into Nicholas’ palm, as promised. “They’ve been going for, what, three years now? I think. Yeah. That sounds right. As soon as Maki came around, everyone knew it was over. Rua’s never looked at anyone like that before. No offense.” 

“None taken.” 

Nicholas puts the blunt between his lips. Before he can ask Taki for a light, Taki is giving him one with an old kitschy lighter. He collects shit like that. This one is in the shape of a topless mermaid. Her neck splits unnaturally when he flicks open the cover. He holds up his hand to shield the flame from the wind. 

The first hit is magnificent. Nicholas nearly moans. He fills his lungs, passing the blunt to Taki when his chest starts aching. He laughs on his exhale, smoke curling up towards the clouds. “Fuck. I really needed this.” 

“That’s good for you.” Taki pats his knee, hand warm against bare skin. “But, I owe Yuma money now.” 

Nicholas can already feel the high blooming in his chest when he takes his second hit. His face loosens up enough to emote, eyebrows pulling together. “Huh?” 

“He bet me that you’d come find me within a week of being home. It’s a damn shame you didn’t hang on until tomorrow.” 

If Nicholas weren’t actively smoking a blunt, it might upset him. Instead, he refocuses his energy on the task at hand. Lungs constricting. He decides to take it as a compliment. 

“Yuma knows me better than anyone else.” 

“Is that true?” Taki’s nose wrinkles a bit. Nicholas watches his lips curl around the end of the blunt as he takes a pull. “Like. Still?” 

Nicholas’ fingers twitch. He rolls his ankle and flexes his arm. There are two seagulls on the water, and Taki is right here. The waves are loud. Too loud. He’s too hot, and too cold— his therapist tried to teach him how to pull himself back down to earth, but it only works half of the time—

“Did you think I was dead?” 

Taki laughs. “Nah, man. Yuma is, like, my best friend. He talks to your grandma all the time. But, I think some other people thought you were.” 

“Harua did.” 

“Did he? Huh. Guess Yuma didn’t get around to telling many people.” 

Nicholas feels like he’s been put in the microwave and softened. Bones jellied and muscles lax. If he tried to get up, he’d slap against the dock like a clump of seaweed. 

“Taki, can you be honest with me?” he asks, body curled over his lap, slowly losing shape. He’s too high for how little he’s smoked. Half a blunt shouldn’t have him so raw, but he’s out of practice. 

“Always, Nico,” Taki says seriously. 

“Does everyone fucking hate me?” 

Taki doesn’t respond right away. He takes his last drag, staring out to the sea. Maybe he’s looking at the gulls. Nicholas is too busy tracing the shape of his frown with his eyes to check, hanging onto every twitch of Taki’s lips, waiting for his sentence to be read. 

“It’s not that anyone hates you,” Taki says eventually. “Some of them feel betrayed, sure. Abandoned, probably. There’s gotta be a few people who never really cared about you at all. But no one is giving you the cold shoulder. It’s just different. It’s been a long time. We’re different. You’re different. You know how it is around here— we protect our own— and you’re one of our own, but you booted yourself from the nest too early, so it’ll probably take a second to get reacquainted with the other chicks. Because we’re not chicks anymore. We’re, like, birds.” 

When Taki blinks, his eyelids stay half closed. He must’ve been high before they started on this blunt. 

“Yeah,” Nicholas agrees, because his only other option is to have Taki keep explaining himself, and he doesn’t think he’ll gain any more clarity there. His brain is swimming in his skull, hot and mushy. Bog water. “I think I’m getting tired of fucking everything up.” 

“That’s good.” 

“I don’t know how to stop.” Nicholas swallows, spit going tacky in his mouth. A wave hits the edge of the dock just so, sending a spray of water against his leg. He doesn’t react, body too numb from his high. 

Taki’s hand clamps down on Nicholas’ shoulder. He shakes him roughly, sending Nicholas wobbling.

Before Nicholas understands what’s happening, Taki has flung his other arm open, and he’s pulling Nicholas into a hug. It’s at an awkward angle. Taki doesn’t let go when Nicholas makes a noise of complaint. He smells like weed and sweat. A little bit like the ocean. 

“You’ll be okay,” he says, breath tickling Nicholas’ ear. 

A boneless laugh is squeezed out of Nicholas. He hugs Taki back with heavy arms. Closes his eyes, and lets himself feel the feeling of being held for a moment. He hasn’t been held by someone who knows him in such a long time. 

༄

He doesn’t leave the dock for a while. Not until his high has settled in enough that he feels comfortable getting up without the risk of falling into the ocean. 

Taki catches him up on what everyone has been doing in his long-winded, rambling way. Nicholas is only half listening. He watches the seagulls float further and further off over the ocean, until they’re nothing more than two white specks on the horizon. It would be nice to be free like that. Untethered from land in such a particular way. 

When Nicholas finally does get up to go, he almost falls off the dock anyway, despite his confidence. Taki steadies him with a hand at his leg. 

“Is there anywhere I could grab honey around here? Yuè asked for it. I totally fucking forgot.” 

“You could try the bait shop.”  

“Min’s?” Nicholas snorts. He knows which one Taki is talking about. An old squat house just off the beach. It’s got a store in the front and a home in the back, but when they were kids, there were rumors that it was haunted. That Old Man Min would hunt children for sport. No one would go inside unless it was on a dare. 

“Yeah, it’s got a new owner now. It’s a lot nicer. Really got the place going again. It’s more like a corner store. They’ve got some groceries.” 

“Alright, bet.” Nicholas reaches down and ruffles Taki’s hair, because he knows Taki will tolerate it. As expected, Taki preens happily. “See ya soon, probably.” 

Taki laughs, notes picked up by the wind. “Probably. Some things never change, Wang.” 

Nicholas takes his leave, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other on his way back to land. He pulls his headband off and shoves it back on, catching all the flyaways that blew loose. 

The bait shop looks more or less like it always has. Run down, hand painted panels spelling B A I T affixed to the roof. The paint is so weathered it’s hard to see what color it used to be, but it must have been close to a seafoam green. It’s a sturdy building. Nicholas isn’t surprised it’s withstood the test of time. 

He pulls open the screen door on the front, stepping inside. 

Yuma came in here on a dare once. He said he saw Old Man Min behind the counter— that he had one eye and he growled. He described in great detail the clutter lining the walls and the dirty, black and white checkerboard flooring. 

The flooring is still checkerboard, but it looks clean. The shop is cluttered, but in a methodical way. Groceries are lined up on one side of the long room, the right wall a row of refrigerators, and the rest of the goods along the left. The walls are painted teal, littered with framed photographs and knickknacks collected over years. The front counter is long, fully blocking off the far wall and wrapping around the corner. There’s a clock hanging above the register, a cat, tail swinging and eyes moving with every second it ticks. No one is there to greet Nicholas. There’s a fan going, slowly oscillating over the empty counter, an ancient radio playing in the corner, antennas all twisted up to get the signal. 

Nicholas slips over to the grocery aisle. He notices a hand drawn sign stuck to the cash when he gets closer— Help Wanted! He laughs to himself, scanning the corners of the room. The length of the counter. There don’t seem to be any cameras. A shame, really. 

The honey is dangerously close to the register. Top shelf. A small, bear shaped bottle with a yellow cap. He takes a breath, palming the bottle and slipping it into his pocket. His shirt is long enough to cover the lump. 

He knows it’s in his best interest to leave, but a flash of tangerine catches his eye as he turns. There’s a display tucked into the corner of the counter across the way. Nicholas steps gingerly over the floor, bending down to get a closer look. 

There are ten or so watercolor paintings up for sale. About postcard sized. The color is vibrant. Each one depicts a place in town— the tangerine Nicholas noticed from afar is a sunrise down at the docks where he just came from, fishing boats dotting the golden-tinted water. None of them are signed, they just have a neat, handwritten description of the location along the bottom edge. They’re beautiful. They’re akin to how Nicholas would see this place in his dreams when he went away. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Oh, sorry—” Nicholas stands up too fast, bumping his head against a rack of sunglasses. The metal tower wobbles precariously, a couple of pairs falling to the floor and skittering in opposite directions. “Shit—” He bends down to pick them up, his buzz nerfing his hand-eye coordination. It takes him double the time it should to get them back where they belong. He faces the employee, ready to apologize again— “Shit,” he repeats instead, tongue suddenly feeling too big for his mouth. 

“Can I help you find something, or…?” The employee— Byun Euijoo— asks again. His face remains perfectly neutral, showing no hint of recognition.  

It’s been seven years since Nicholas has seen Euijoo. The last time was probably on the beach— at one of those summer parties after graduation, right before Nicholas got on a train and left for good. Nicholas can’t remember the specifics of it now, his memories too slippery to properly grasp. 

Euijoo has the same cheeks he always did, though he’s grown into them. His face has slimmed out in the way a face does when a boy changes into a man. His eyes are bright, eyelashes long and dark. His hair— which used to sit cropped above his ears— is a bit longer. Messier. Less tamed. The barest indication that he’s loosened up his anal-retentive tendencies. 

For the last seven years, Nicholas has thought about Euijoo more than almost anyone else he had left behind. More than Harua. Nearly as much as Yuma, if he’s being honest. If he tried to explain it, he’d sound insane. 

Byun Euijoo was famous in high school. Or, to Nicholas he was. Euijoo was perfect. He’s been perfect since the day Nicholas met him. He transferred into Nicholas’ class in the first grade— walked through the door in a pressed shirt and tiny loafers, hair gelled back by his mother’s hands. Somehow, Nicholas can remember that moment more clearly than the last time he saw Euijoo, but he feels confident in saying that Euijoo was just as perfect at the end, too. 

Nicholas always hated Euijoo. He was obsessed with hating Euijoo. Obsessed with Euijoo. Yuma called it a homoerotic fixation, but Nicholas thinks it was nothing more than a self-aware fascination. He’s not sure which is worse. 

For the last seven years, Euijoo existed as an incessant presence in Nicholas’ hindbrain. A recurring character in his dreams. A frequent interloper in his waking thoughts. Something wholly unphysical, yet entirely palpable to Nicholas alone. The Byun Euijoo he’s kept inside his head. 

“Taki didn’t tell me you worked here,” Nicholas says rather than answering Euijoo’s question. 

It’s not that Taki would have known who Euijoo is to Nicholas, unless Yuma told him after Nicholas left. Nicholas finds it hard to believe that Yuma spent much time talking about him at all, though, and especially in this capacity. 

So, Taki sent Nicholas over here without a warning that Euijoo would be behind the counter. 

If Taki had warned him, Nicholas probably would have spent less time fucking around on his way over. 

He would have still come, warning or not. He would have wanted to see if the Euijoo in his head matched up with the real thing. 

“Sorry— I don’t…” Euijoo blinks. He moves his hand vaguely in front of him, lips twitching downwards. “Have we met before?” Euijoo asks. 

It’s a well aimed dagger straight to Nicholas’ stomach. 

“Are you a tourist?” Euijoo asks. 

Nicholas swears he can feel the knife twist. He has to fight the urge to clutch his middle and keel over. 

“You don’t know who I am,” Nicholas says. A laugh bubbles up in his chest, spilling over his lips. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like he’ll be able to remove the residue of the sound. “No. Yeah. That makes sense. It’s fine. We went to school together. I just moved back. So. It’s been a while.” 

Still, Euijoo’s face gives nothing away. “Oh. Sorry.” 

“Nicholas.” 

Euijoo shakes his head.

“Wang.” 

He gives Nicholas an apologetic smile. 

“Ah, well. It’s all good. No worries,” he lies. “I was just—” he jerks his thumb back at the display behind him, “looking at the art. Pretty sick stuff.” 

“Ah.” Euijoo seems happy to move on from the awkwardness. “Yeah. The artist is local. I was hoping to get some others interested in selling here, but— nevermind, you probably don’t care—” he cuts himself off with a wave of his hand. 

Nicholas tightens his hands around nothing. The bottle in his pocket feels too heavy. His head is too light. He should go, before he fucks something up and Byun Euijoo realizes something’s amiss and calls the cops on him. Euijoo would be the type to call the cops. 

“No. I care, man. Promise.” Nicholas nods. “I’m just a little high right now, honestly.” 

Euijoo shifts uncomfortably. “Okay. So, did you need something?” 

“Oh. No. I should probably head out.” 

Nicholas’ palms are sweating. His mouth is dry. Everything is too much, and it has been, and now it’s at a boiling point. He changes his weight from one foot to the other. Euijoo looks at him with mild concern. Like he knows. Like Nicholas is transparent. Barely there at all. 

“Okay. See you around.” He jerks, giving Euijoo an awkward wave before turning. 

“Yeah,” Euijoo says. “See you around.” 

Nicholas feels like a robot until he’s back outside. One leg in front of the other, terrified to slip. He coughs with his first breath of fresh air. 

The further from Euijoo’s shop he gets, the lighter his pockets feel, but he can’t brush off the comedown of his high so easily. Anxiety churns in his gut, body putting up a fight as he slowly sobers. 

He walks laps around the block until he’s able to stop his hands from shaking. Then, he walks through the front door. Kicks off his shoes and goes straight up to where Yuè is sitting, reading a magazine at the kitchen table. The bottle of honey makes a solid noise when he pointedly sets it down. The bear-shaped container is smiling. Nicholas didn’t notice until now. 

“Thank you,” Yuè says, clearly impressed that he managed. 

Nicholas wishes it made him feel guilty, but he just feels a little proud. 

“How did job hunting go?” she asks, letting her glasses slide down the bridge of her nose to see him more clearly. 

“Good.” Nicholas grabs the back of a chair. He chews the inside of his cheek. “I got a job.” 

Her eyebrows shoot up. “You did?” 

“Mhm. At the bait shop.” Lies roll off of his tongue too easily. Something he inherited from his mother. It’s all that was left for him to take after Kahei stole all the gumption. “Do you know Byun Euijoo?” 

Yuè clicks her tongue. “Of course I know Euijoo. He’s a good boy.” 

“Right. Sure. Of course.” Nicholas waves it off, but he doesn’t leave. He wants to know more, but he doesn’t know how to ask. He just stands, holding the chair, in the silent kitchen. 

“He asks about you sometimes,” Yuè says, seemingly understanding what he wants without being told. “Wants to know how you’re doing. He brings me fresh eggs every once in a while, his sister has a farm somewhere around here—” 

Nicholas suddenly feels entirely sober. “What?” 

“Hm?” Yuè frowns. 

“Euijoo asks about me?” 

She gives him a look like he’s ridiculous. “Yes. You two were friends, were you not?” 

“No.” Nicholas rubs his throat with one hand, trying to stave off an entirely hallucinated bout of anaphylaxis. He can feel his skin heating under his fingertips, nails scratching the delicate surface of his neck. His voice comes out rough. “I didn’t think he knew who I was.” 

Yuè flicks to the next page in her magazine. “Well, he does. He’s always asked.” 

Nicholas doesn’t know why Euijoo would lie. 

A power trip, maybe. Another slight to subtly make Nicholas feel insane. 

What is Byun Euijoo doing working at the bait shop anyway? 

When they graduated, Euijoo gave a speech. His parents and sister were in the audience, crying. Endlessly proud. Nicholas knows because he was watching them rather than Euijoo, fascinated by the mechanics of a nuclear family. More importantly, he was fascinated by Euijoo. 

Euijoo was the golden boy of their class. Valedictorian, openly gay— his boyfriend was the captain of the soccer team, which made him universally loved by both the jocks and academics. He was kind. Polite. He got a full scholarship to a nice school, even though his parents are one of the only families in town that had enough money to pay his way. Everyone thought that Euijoo would become something great. Something bigger than this town. A story they tell to students to inspire them— a picture on the wall to prove that anyone can be anyone. 

It’s a bit sad, in a way. Where he and Euijoo so starkly diverged, only to end up right back where they started. That Nicholas, seemingly, managed to stay in the sky for longer, despite the chaotic way he fell back to earth. 

Nicholas knows nothing about Euijoo but what he’s clung to as a twisted form of comfort. Euijoo the idea. The memory. The presence, an object of fantasy, and decidedly unreal being. 

He was comfortable knowing that he would never see Euijoo again, but he would always think of him. It felt safe.

Now Nicholas knows that Euijoo works at the bait shop. Euijoo is here, just as Nicholas left him, and in the cloud-covered light of early summer, he looks more bronzed than he does golden. There’s no way to tell if he was ever golden at all, or if it was a trick of the light. Something Nicholas projected onto him unfairly.

Nicholas wants to know more. He’s weak to impulse and powerless against obsession. Euijoo sits snugly at the intersection of both.

“Are you going to stand there all evening?” 

“No.” Nicholas shakes his head, broken out of his spiral. He ignores the way Yuè is looking at him. Like she knows something he doesn’t. He jerks, pushing the chair all the way in and taking long strides towards his bedroom. 

“Think about what you want for dinner, or I’ll choose!” Yuè calls after him. “That’s a threat!” 

He makes a noise of acknowledgement, collapsing into his bed. 

Only then does he feel like he can relax. 

༄

Nicholas dreams of Euijoo that night. The first dream he’s had in well over a month. 

Euijoo, floating on his back in the murky gray of the ocean. He’s shirtless. He’s no longer eighteen, now that he’s more than a memory. There’s a seagull floating nearby, bobbing along the surface. Nicholas is there, too. Somewhere. He’s too cold, and too hot. He’s still wearing all of his clothes, and there’s salt water in his mouth. 

“What are you doing?” Euijoo asks. 

Nicholas shakes his head. “I don’t know.” 

It’s a conversation they have in Nicholas’ dreams often. No matter what they’re doing. Euijoo’s question is never attacking, but curious. Every time Nicholas answers the same way, and Euijoo is never offended. He just continues doing whatever he’s doing. 

This time, Euijoo speaks up again. “You could just stop, you know,” he says. 

“I know,” Nicholas replies. And he does. He stops treading water, and sinks to the bottom of the ocean like a rock. 

When he looks up, he can see the watery outline of Euijoo’s body floating through the glow of the moon. 

༄

There’s an old, fat, black and white cat flicking its tail on the front stoop of the bait shop. Nicholas crunches down, offering his hand to sniff. 

The cat flicks its tail. Tilts its head to the side, allowing a pet. 

Nicholas coos, scratching behind its ears, earning a loud purr. 

“You’re pretty soft for an outdoor cat, aren’t you?” Nicholas asks. 

The cat doesn’t respond. 

It’s not too terribly early, but it’s already hot out. The cat’s fur is warm, black patches soaking up the heat. 

Nicholas naturally woke up around nine. He was prepared to remain in bed for a few hours, until Yuè reminded him of last night’s lies. 

“What time is your first shift?” she asked. 

“Ten.” 

It must have sounded reasonable enough, because she didn’t question him any further. 

He left home at nine forty-five, freshly showered and wearing Kahei’s headband again. His shirt has sleeves today. If he’s going to beg for a job, he may as well look somewhat presentable. 

The cat blinks its big, green eyes. Nicholas huffs a laugh. He’s always liked cats, just didn’t think he was responsible enough to own one himself. 

When the shop door opens, it startles Nicholas and the animal. They both look up, Euijoo looming over them, hand on the screen. 

“Oh. It’s you,” he says. 

“It’s me,” Nicholas agrees.  

Euijoo glances towards the cat. “I was coming to see if he wanted to be let in.” 

“He seems comfortable.” 

Just as the words leave Nicholas’ mouth, the cat gets up with a great sigh. He stretches, winding around Euijoo’s legs before walking inside the shop. Nicholas feels mildly betrayed. He doesn’t miss the brief flash of a smug smile pass over Euijoo’s lips. He stands up, wiping his hands on his shorts. 

“Alright.” Euijoo steps backwards. “Bye.” 

“Woah, hold on—” Nicholas catches the door before it swings shut. 

He follows Euijoo inside. The cat has hopped up on the counter, licking his paw lazily. Euijoo stops to pat his head on his way behind the counter. He sits down at a stool behind the register, letting out a sigh. “What?” he asks. Nicholas can see the way his hands are clenched into fists in his lap. 

“I have a bone to pick.” Nicholas steps up to the counter, tapping his finger on the surface. It makes a hollow thunk, thunk, thunk. 

Euijoo’s eyes widen, tilting his head innocently. Like he has no idea what he could have possibly done. “With me?” he stammers, index finger bent against his own chest. 

Nicholas nods. “You’re a liar.” 

“I—” Euijoo makes a noise. “Excuse me?” 

“Yeah.” Nicholas nods again. “You do know who I am.” 

“Oh.” Euijoo’s façade crumbles instantly. He doesn’t even put up a fight. It’s a little pathetic. Nicholas doesn’t like that he didn’t put up a fight, but he doesn’t know Euijoo well enough to say so. 

Euijoo straightens his back, throat bobbing when he swallows. He won’t meet Nicholas’ eyes. Instead, he becomes fascinated with a hangnail on his thumb. Picking at it as he frowns. 

Nicholas raps his knuckle against the counter again. “You’ve been asking Yuè how I am.” 

A soft scowl twists up Euijoo’s lips. It’s so inoffensive that Nicholas has a hard time holding back a laugh. Euijoo looks sour. A baby that ate candy he doesn’t like. 

“Everyone was saying you died,” he excuses. “I figured I should pay my respects, if I needed to.” 

“Before that.” 

Euijoo shrugs. “Well…” 

“Well?” Nicholas lifts a brow. 

“Of course I know you, Nicholas,” Euijoo huffs. He finally looks up from his fingers, folding his arms over his chest. “I know everyone. This town isn’t big. I don’t even know why you believed me. Really, it’s your fault.” 

A wild laugh escapes Nicholas’ throat. “You’re really— wow— I can’t believe you found a way to turn that on me—” He blows out a breath. “You’re good. Okay. Fine. I get it. It’s okay, but since you lied, I know how you can make it up to me.” 

Euijoo’s brows pull together. “Sorry?” 

Nicholas nods. He swallows back any nerves. This sort of thing calls for unwavering confidence. “You’re going to give me a job. Here.” 

“No I’m not,” Euijoo says. 

“Yes you are.” 

“We don’t need a second employee. This place is small.” 

Nicholas leans back, locking onto the sign he saw yesterday. He plucks it off the register, tape giving easily. He turns it around and taps on it. “Says right here you are.” 

Euijoo is terrible at hiding his feelings after he’s been caught. His lips drop open into a little o. “I—” he stands up, grabbing the sign from Nicholas. “I forgot that was there. It’s been up forever.” 

“And you never hired anyone.” 

“Well… no, but—” 

“Come on, Euijoo,” Nicholas pleads. He clasps his hands together, a shitty rendition of praying. He’s never prayed in his life. “I really need this. If not for me, for Yuè. She’s so worried about me, and I think it would really ease her mind if I had something to do that’s worth anything.” 

It’s mean. It’s a low blow. Euijoo is soft, and he cares too much— Nicholas has gleaned that much in talking to him for a total of five minutes today. He cares about Yuè, and he brings her eggs, and Nicholas can see the moment Euijoo begins to crack. 

He sniffles, tipping his nose up. “Do you know how to make a latte?” he asks. 

“I know how to use a coffee pot, and it looks like that’s all you have.” Nicholas nods to the old, industrial-style CoffeeMate sitting behind the counter. 

Euijoo’s cheeks color. Nicholas has to force down a smirk. He can already tell that Euijoo will be fun to yank around, but he ought to wait until he has the job before he starts tugging at his pigtails. 

“Have you ever fished?” Euijoo presses on, stubbornly avoiding Nicholas’ teasing. “Or worked with bait at all?” 

Nicholas snorts. “How hard could it be to scoop worms into a cup?” Euijoo shoots him a glare. “Sorry. No, I haven’t, but I’m ready to learn. Ready to worm, even.” 

Euijoo doesn’t laugh. “We open at five in the morning.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ—” 

“Is that going to be a problem?” Euijoo interrupts, pinning Nicholas in place with almost vicious eye contact. 

“No. Not at all. I love getting up early.” 

“You’re a liar, too.” 

Nicholas breaks into a stupid grin. “Yeah. Sure. But, I have a good work ethic.” 

Euijoo blinks. “Is that true?” 

“No. But I already told Yuè that I have a job, and I’m kind of sick of disappointing her.” 

“Stop using your grandmother to guilt trip me.” 

“Sorry.” 

“She doesn’t deserve that,” Euijoo adds quietly. 

“You’re right.” Nicholas lifts his hands in surrender. “She doesn’t.” 

Euijoo lets out a short breath. He rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek. Nicholas traces the movement with his eyes, fascinated by the curve of his face. His skin looks soft, despite the faint acne scarring along his jaw. He’d probably be smooth to the touch. The radio is on, Nicholas notices, turned to the same station as it was yesterday. The cat-shaped clock on the wall looks like Euijoo’s cat. He wonders if he bought it on purpose for that reason. 

“Fine,” Euijoo gives. 

Nicholas takes, like the dog he is and always has been. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Euijoo,” he says. Then, he tells two more lies, “I have a good feeling about this. You won’t regret it.”